e hand of Monsieur de Crillon! Yes, those were the words with which
the imperious dame had swept out of the room, locking the door after
her. Clotilde could scarcely believe her ears. Then he, too, who had
allowed her, nay, led her to suppose that to win her hand was the
object nearest to his heart, had consented for the sake of the promised
dowry to wed one for whom he cared not a jot, well knowing that the
union could only bring misery, not happiness, to the victim of his
selfish covetousness! Never till this moment had Clotilde suspected
how much she really cared for him; but that was now a thing of the
past. Happily she had learned in time how mean and despicable he was,
and in her indignation she rejoiced at the humiliation he would
experience on finding that the wicked scheme was marred, and that he
himself would have the task of proving who she was, and bringing about
her release. But it was a bitter thing to find herself in such a
position, and to know that her mother, and even the marquis, were
concerned in such a plot. It is scarcely to be wondered at that she at
length gave way to her grief; her only comfort was that, as it had
turned out, Marguerite had escaped the present danger, and as she
thought of this she could not help feeling thankful that there would
yet be a delay of many hours before the shameless de Crillon would
discover how they had been foiled.

Somewhat reassured by these reflections, she proceeded to examine a
little more calmly the place where she was detained. She now observed
for the first time a side-table, on which a repast that might serve
either as a supper or a breakfast was laid out, and on looking timidly
through an open door she found a sleeping apartment, evidently intended
for the expected prisoner. She was too excited as yet to take either
food or rest, and sat down to meditate on the prospect before her. It
would, however, be as painful as it would be profitless to follow her
through the long hours that ensued; let us see, then, what in the
meanwhile was happening elsewhere.

Madame de Valricour had remained at Beaujardin for the night, perhaps
not caring to have to answer the questions with which Clotilde might be
expected to meet her on her return home. What was her surprise when,
early in the forenoon, a messenger arrived from Valricour with a note
from Madame de Bleury, informing her that immediately on the departure
of the coach on the previous evening Isidore